Chapter Text
Stardate 60535.6
Starbase 718
“I have to admit,” said Mariner, “I’m not used to taking a counselor seriously.”
Oshrev th’Kor watched her from his comfortable armchair in the counselor’s office, a neutral expression on his face, his antennae turned toward her. He was a burly Andorian thaan, with pale blue skin and snow-white hair and eyebrows, wearing casual clothes rather than the lieutenant-commander’s uniform to which he was entitled. He didn’t keep a notepad on hand, trusting his own memory and preferring to pay close attention to his patient.
“Ethically, I can’t discuss your previous counselor with you,” he said, his voice a calm, smooth bass. “Speaking in general terms, though, it’s always possible for even a skilled therapist to be a poor fit for one of their patients. Which, in my opinion, is one of many ways in which Starfleet’s approach to the ship’s-counselor position comes up short. What happens if the one therapist on board a given ship just doesn’t click with an officer who needs help?”
Mariner felt a reflexive urge to bristle up, to reject the very idea that she needed help. Or, perhaps, that she deserved help. She suppressed it, more quickly and more effectively than she would once have been able. Having a full-time Vulcan presence in the back of her mind seemed to help.
Instead, she chuckled ruefully. “Yeah, you could say Dr. Migleemo was a poor fit for me. I suppose he must have been able to help some of the crew, but I was never on that list.”
Oshrev nodded. “So let’s move on. What brings you to my office now? Reviewing your records, I see you’ve tended to resist therapy in the past, even or especially when ordered into it. Most of your productive insights seem to have come during dangerous missions. Or during self-administered, violently cathartic psychodrama on the holodeck. A practice I do not recommend, by the way.”
“I hear you. I almost lost a friend that way once.” Mariner shifted on the comfy couch where she had been slouching since the session began. “If you’ve been through my file, you know my career hit absolute rock bottom a little over two years ago. I even resigned my commission for a few weeks.”
The counselor nodded, maintaining a receptive silence.
“After I came back and my mom got me reinstated, I started turning myself around. It took a few more hard knocks, and a lot of help from my friends, but I finally figured out how and why I’d been sabotaging myself for so long. I got promoted, and this time I let it stick. Not long ago I got promoted again, which means I’m back at the highest rank I earned before I got off on the wrong track.”
She sighed, and fell silent for a few moments.
After a while, Oshrev stirred and said, “It seems to me that with your aptitudes and record of achievement, if you continue on your present course you can expect to attain command rank in time. How do you feel about that?”
“I . . . I’m not sure. Part of me wants it. Part of me knows I would be pretty good at it.” Mariner shook her head, and gave him a sharp glance. “Another part of me still has issues with command. I’ve seen what it does to people. Like Admiral Pressman, Admiral Leyton or Admiral Buenamigo. Or like my mom, when she starts worrying so much about her career she forgets how to do the right thing. I don’t want to be like that. Especially if it means I get so case-hardened I don’t worry any more about sending people off to die.”
He waited in silence once more.
“I know, it’s irrational. I understand the responsibilities of command. When I’m thinking clearly, I can accept them. I’m still not thinking clearly about this, not all the time.”
“So,” said Oshrev, an insinuating note creeping into his voice. “Is your objective to earn an endorsement from your counselor, so you are more likely to be promoted further?”
Mariner sat bolt upright, and shot him an angry glare. “No! Fuck no!” Then she realized she had been baited, stepped hard on her anger, and stopped to think for a moment. “It’s just . . . I still have work to do on myself. If I do get promoted again, I need to know I’m ready to do the job the right way and for the right reasons.”
Oshrev nodded, his antennae curling inward slightly in approval. “Good answer.”
Mariner scoffed, but she relaxed a little.
“It’s good you came to me voluntarily,” he said. “A therapist can’t be of much help if the patient is unwilling. I’d like to suggest we meet on a weekly basis. In the meantime, I understand your wife is teaching you techniques of Vulcan meditation.”
“Yeah,” Mariner agreed. “It doesn’t come easy, but T’Lyn is a patient teacher.”
“I would encourage you to continue. Vulcan meditative practices are oriented toward improving the mind’s understanding of its own functions. I don’t recommend you try to suppress your emotions entirely, as Vulcans do . . .”
“Not even T says to try that,” Mariner interrupted.
“Your wife is wise. For a human, it would be very unhealthy. Still, if meditation helps you identify and understand maladaptive habits of thought, you’ll be better equipped to find solutions for them.”
“You got it, Doc. That’s what she keeps telling me too, in almost exactly the same words.” Mariner grinned at him. “She had some of what they call healer training, when she was young. She’s not certified as a counselor, but she’s already done a lot to help me rewire around the snarled spots in my brain.”
“Hmm.” Oshrev smiled. “Perhaps I should meet Lieutenant T’Lyn, aside from the regular crew evals.”
“I’ll have a word with her about it.” Mariner’s smile slipped a little. “She has a few issues she’s still wrestling with too. Maybe talking with you would do her some good.”
Stardate 60536.4
Starbase 718
T’Lyn was the first to arrive in the mess hall. She considered her options for a moment, then ordered a Terran market salad, a glass of water, and a set of chopsticks. She made her way to their usual booth and began to eat, dividing her attention between her salad and the PADD at her elbow.
She heard footsteps approach, identifying Tendi by their cadence. Her friend did not hurl herself into the booth as usual. Instead, she stopped two meters away and said, “T’Lyn! Congratulations!”
“Why am I being congratulated?” asked T’Lyn, lifting her eyes from the PADD . . .
Only to stop dead, uncharacteristically at a loss.
D’Vana Tendi stood there, beaming, almost vibrating in her excitement. Wearing her Starfleet uniform.
Her red Starfleet uniform.
“What has happened?” asked T’Lyn.
“Well,” said Tendi. “You know I’ve been thinking for a long time about working toward a captain’s chair someday. Senior science officer training was a step in that direction, but I got sidetracked when I had to go back to Orion for a while. Then you and I both got posted to the bridge, and that’s been great, but I’ve been talking to Captain Ransom. He thinks the best next step is for me to do a tour in Command. He’s about to make a lot of changes to the senior staff, in fact. So as of today I’m Lieutenant D’Vana Tendi, the new Intelligence Officer for the Cerritos.”
“Interesting,” said T’Lyn. “The Cerritos has not had an Intelligence Officer until now.”
“Yeah, as a support ship we never had much need for one,” said Tendi. “But since we’re doing so much work along the Romulan border, and we’re the one Starfleet ship that has close contacts in the Orion Syndicate, and we’ve been supporting more than our share of covert operations lately . . .”
“Yes, I see.” T’Lyn cocked her head. “I assume the reason you are congratulating me is that I am now the ship’s sole Science Officer.”
“That’s right!” Tendi slipped into the booth, giving T’Lyn what Mariner would call puppy-dog eyes. “I begged Captain Ransom to let me bring you the news. The job is yours! If you want it, that is. I hope you do.”
“Hmm. I have had reservations about my ability to communicate and lead effectively.”
“Captain Ransom doesn’t feel that way. I asked him about it. He thinks you’re doing a great job, and you’re more than ready to do it solo.” Tendi reached up to touch the rank pips on her collar. “Besides, now that we’ve all been promoted to full Lieutenant, there’s no rank issue any more. You’ve got the seniority to lead Sciences all on your own.”
T’Lyn thought for a long moment, reviewing everything that had happened over the past two years, since she had come to the Cerritos. In the Vulcan manner, she subjected all of her own behavior, all of her own accomplishments, to a rapid but dispassionate appraisal.
She did not consult Mariner through their link. She already knew what her wife would say . . . and in any case, Mariner seemed to be dealing with some emotional turmoil of her own at the moment.
“Very well,” she said at last. “I will speak to Captain Ransom, and if he believes I am ready, I will accept the position.”
Tendi bounced in her seat and cheered.
“I will, however, miss my ‘science bestie.’”
“Aww, don’t worry about that,” said Tendi. “We’ll still be working together. This is Starfleet, after all. Intelligence officers have to deal with weird science all the time, and I’ll be keeping up with my studies. I want a science ship someday.”
Tendi went to claim her own meal from the replicators, leaving T’Lyn to slowly work on her salad and consider the evidence that change was upon their circle of associates.
At least Rutherford was a stable point. He had already been taking on new responsibilities for months, working as one of Commander Billups’s off-shift supervisors in Engineering. He appeared a few moments later, took his turn at being surprised by Tendi’s new uniform, and was loudly supportive of his lover as she enthused about her new position. T’Lyn listened to the two of them, their happy chatter providing a bit of comfort as she felt the tone of Mariner’s mind.
Mariner is getting better at not broadcasting every detailed thought to me. I can tell she is . . . not angry or upset. She has nevertheless encountered something which she must process emotionally.
Sure enough, about the time T’Lyn had finished her salad, Mariner and Boimler appeared. They were talking as they arrived in the mess hall, but T’Lyn’s Vulcan hearing detected no notes of stress in their voices, and their faces seemed at rest. They stopped by the replicators, then made their way over to the table. As T’Lyn might have expected, neither of them showed any surprise at Tendi’s new uniform.
“Lots of shuffling on the Table of Organization today,” said Mariner.
“Who is the new Executive Officer?” asked T’Lyn.
Mariner and Boimler stared at her, ignoring their food for a moment. “Okay, I’m fairly sure I was keeping that partitioned off,” said Mariner. “How the hell did you figure it out?”
“It was not a difficult inference,” said T’Lyn. “The arrangement whereby you and Lieutenant Boimler shared the Executive Officer’s position, even while both of you lacked the appropriate rank, was always anomalous. While we are docked at Starbase 718, transfers onto and away from the Cerritos are taking place, suggesting significant changes to the crew roster. Lieutenant Tendi has just been appointed to a new position, and she mentioned Captain Ransom is making other changes to the senior staff as well. While you have been able to conceal the content of your thoughts this evening, I could sense your emotional tone, and I knew some personally significant event had taken place. I estimated a 72.8% chance Captain Ransom had appointed a new Executive Officer, or was about to do so.”
“Vulcan logic wins the day, as usual,” said Mariner. “Starfleet Bureau of Personnel finally caught up with Jack and laid down the law. He has to have an XO who’s actually, you know, qualified for the position, or they’ll transfer one onto the ship for him. He couldn’t promote either Boims or me, we don’t have enough time-in-grade, and we’ve never taken the bridge-officer quals. So he picked Kat Lemonts to be the new XO. The formal announcement will be tomorrow morning, but it’s no secret, she’s already accepted the job.”
“Hmm,” said Rutherford. “Lemonts is a good choice. She’s been the Gamma Shift watch officer ever since she got her third pip a few months ago. My crew has been dealing with her a lot. She’s smart, no-nonsense, gets along great with the rest of the senior staff.”
“Did she talk to the two of you before she took the job?” Tendi wondered.
“Oh, yeah,” said Boimler. “She was in the room when Captain Ransom laid it all out for us, and she straight-up said she wouldn’t take the job unless we were okay with it.”
“She told Jack to his face he shouldn’t have put us in such an awkward position in the first place,” said Mariner gleefully. “Trotted out the all-due-respect phrase and everything. If I didn’t like her before, I do now.”
“You seem awfully happy about what’s got to feel like a demotion,” said Tendi.
“Well . . .” Mariner gathered her thoughts. “Hey, the last year has been pretty good for Boims and me. We’ve had a chance to shine in some tough assignments, we’ve gotten plenty of advance command experience, we’ve both grown as officers. I think we both knew it couldn’t last forever.”
“Besides, we’re both staying on the bridge, and in positions we do have the rank for,” said Boimler. “I’ve just been named the new lead helmsman.”
Tendi’s eyes went round. “Ooo, cool! You’ve earned it, Brad, you’re probably the best pilot on the Cerritos.”
“Debatable,” said Boimler, and then his voice fell to a low mutter. “At least I got there before that asshole Casey did.”
“What about you, Beckett?” asked T’Lyn.
Mariner took a deep breath. “I admit, I’m kind of ambivalent about this . . . but I’m going to be a department head. Chief of Operations.”
“Interesting,” said T’Lyn. “It appears we shall be department heads together.”
Mariner brightened. “Hey, you’re right, I hadn’t thought of that.”
Rutherford nodded. “Yeah, a tour as Chief of Ops isn’t a bad move for you, Mariner. It takes more leadership skill than you might think. I’ll bet the captain thinks you need more experience with organization and resource management.”
“I know. I’m not really unhappy about this,” said Mariner. “I get to brush up some skills, I’ll get plenty of bridge time, and Jack promised I’d stay close to the top of the away-team roster. I just have some bad associations. The last time I had full-lieutenant’s pips and a bright yellow uniform, my mom was doing her best to give me crap jobs and drive me to transfer off the ship.”
“That will not be an issue this time,” said T’Lyn.
“Damn straight. And hey, now Rutherford and I get to match!”
“Woo-hoo! Go for the goldenrod!” Rutherford crowed. He and Mariner exchanged a high-five gesture.
Stardate 60538.0
Starbase 718
When new orders came in from Starfleet Command, Mariner was already as busy as a woman with three punctures in her EV suit and only one patch.
There had been the morning staff meeting, which she attended in her new bright-golden uniform jacket, where the new officer assignments were formally announced. Then an Operations department meeting, at which the outgoing chief – a newly minted lieutenant commander named Pon Darra, who was moving up to the Magellan – introduced Mariner to the officers and crew. Then working with Darra on a last-minute flood of tasks, getting Cerritos ready to depart the starbase.
In the back of her mind, she was aware of T’Lyn going through a similar round of work. Finishing a crew rotation and resupply-at-starbase evolution wasn’t nearly as taxing for Sciences as for Operations, but T’Lyn did need to assert her new status. She also had a half-dozen new ensigns and baby lieutenants to get through on-boarding. Fortunately all the established officers already knew and respected her, and just being a Vulcan gave her instant kudos with the newbies.
Mariner was too busy to do more than exchange a quick confidence-building thought with T’Lyn across their link. Then there was moving out of the XO’s office and into the Ops-chief’s office on Deck Three, and solving a sudden priority-conflict problem on the duty roster, and figuring out where to stow a weird-shaped pallet of equipment Engineering was going to need later, and and and . . .
The last time she had been a lieutenant in a gold uniform, her mother and Commander Ransom had been deliberately giving her bullshit make-work in an attempt to drive her out of the service. The thing she had most hated about that was the sheer futility of the work. She had been useless, and getting her nose rubbed in the fact her own mother and the senior staff considered her useless as well.
Well, they had all grown up a bit since then. Mariner was far from useless now. If anything, by mid-morning she was wishing for some nice, uncomplicated bridge time. She was half tempted to go up and relieve Lieutenant Barnes at the ops board.
She stepped on the impulse, and got back to work. Even so, she felt a surge of relief when a call came through, summoning all the department heads to the captain’s ready room.
“Hey, that’s you now, Mariner,” said Darra.
“Guess so.” Mariner shook his hand, knowing he would be leaving the ship in the next hour. “Good luck on the Magellan.”
He smiled. “Thanks. Cerritos strong!”
As officers filtered into the ready room, they found Captain Ransom standing at the head of the conference table, talking with a stranger.
The newcomer was a male human, tall, muscular, rather handsome by Mariner’s standards, with pale coloring, straight auburn hair worn shoulder-length, and a neatly trimmed mustache and goatee that showed some silver. His clothing attracted Mariner’s attention. It was nothing like either a Starfleet uniform, or any kind of civilian outfit that would have been fashionable on Earth or the older colonies. Instead, he wore dark, tight-fitting breeches tucked into leather boots, a white shirt with blousy sleeves, and a leather jacket with what looked like fur trim. Everything was held together with buttons and laces. A wide-brimmed hat in black felt rested on the table beside him, its brim turned up on each side and a jaunty red-and-white feather tucked into the hat-band.
All things considered, it didn’t surprise Mariner in the slightest when Commander Billups arrived and immediately recognized the man. “Aristander!”
“Your Highness!” The stranger broke away from Ransom and went to embrace Billups, both of them grinning from ear to ear.
Mariner glanced at T’Lyn, whose eyebrow was well up toward her hairline. Okay, what’s a Hysperian doing here?
No data, said T’Lyn. Has there been any message from Commander Billups’s mother?
Not that I’ve heard. Mariner sat down next to T’Lyn and waited for developments.
She didn’t have to wait long. Dr. T’Ana was the last to arrive, and then Ransom sat down and rapped on the table to call the meeting to order. “Our guest is Lord Aristander Black,” he said, “a member of the Hysperian royal court. The Hysperians are having some trouble, and Starfleet Command has tasked us to lend assistance. Lord Black?”
Black nodded graciously, and took a stance by Ransom, clasping his hands behind his back in an at-ease pose. “I’m sure you’re aware my homeworld, Hysperia, maintains a small warp-capable fleet,” he began. “The pride of our fleet is the Monaveen, which you have encountered before.”
The viewscreen showed an image of an odd-looking starship, functional in overall design, but covered with baroque decoration. Ransom remained impassive, so Mariner suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. T’Lyn still detected the impulse, and sent an interrogative thought.
I wasn’t on board the last time we ran into the Hysperians, Mariner told her silently. Rutherford and Tendi were involved. Let’s just say Hysperian politics can get kind of weird.
“We use the Monaveen not only for royal errands and trade, but for survey expeditions as well,” Black continued. “Hysperia is not yet over-populated, but we have a much lower tolerance for crowding than most human societies. Queen Paolana is actively interested in finding candidate worlds for secondary colonization.”
“Last I heard, the Monaveen was exploring to coreward, in the direction of the Typhon Expanse,” said Billups.
“That is correct, Your Highness.” Black hesitated. “Unfortunately, as of six days ago, we have lost contact with the Monaveen . . . and with Queen Paolana.”
Billups frowned in mild exasperation. “Aristander, is this yet another scheme of my mother’s to get me out of Starfleet and onto the throne?”
Lord Black shook his head. “I understand your concern, Your Highness, but as far as I am aware this is none of your mother’s doing. If I may say, ever since her last attempt to trick you into the succession, she has appeared much more resigned to the fact you have no interest in the throne. The Privy Council has been quietly exploring our options, should the House of Billups no longer be eligible to rule.”
“Good,” said Billups. “Then you’re saying this is a genuine emergency, and my mother and our flagship are actually missing?”
Black nodded in agreement. “That appears to be the case, Your Highness.”
“Starfleet has tasked us to investigate,” said Ransom. “We’re to proceed to the last known location of the Monaveen, look for any sign of what happened to her, and if necessary proceed into the Typhon Expanse itself to render assistance. That’s a very weird region of space, and almost completely unexplored, so we need to be ready for anything.”
Katherine Lemonts, the new Executive Officer, leaned forward. She was an attractive woman in her mid-thirties, rather petite and slender, pale, with brown eyes and shiny black hair in a medium-length bob cut. Mariner was already building a favorable impression of her.
“Lieutenant T’Lyn,” said Lemonts, “it’s been a while since Cerritos has had a straight-up exploratory mission, and this is likely to fit that as well as the standard search-and-rescue profile. I’ll want a detailed report on your department’s readiness as soon as possible.”
T'Lyn nodded. “Understood. You will have it by the end of the shift.”
“Lieutenant Tendi,” Lemonts continued, “if the Monaveen was venturing into the Expanse, there are a lot of ways they could have come to grief without running into hostiles. Still, I want you to assemble a summary of all recent Kzinti, Romulan, and minor-powers activity in the region.”
“Aye, sir,” said Tendi, already making notes on her PADD.
“Excellent,” said Ransom. “I want us ready to undock and be on our way to the Typhon Sector by 1200. Any issues?”
There were none.
“Let’s go get it done, then. Dismissed.”